I take the opportunity to show him how I feel, to be gentle as I wash his back, to kiss him where I can reach, to brush off his hands as he tries to touch me. It’s always about me coming, and though he obviously enjoys himself as well, it’s only in controlled situations.
So when his hardened cock presses against me insistently, I sink to my knees and look up at him through my lashes, taking his entire length into my mouth. He staggers, grabbing at the wall for support, and I follow his faltering steps. Over and over, I urge him to use my mouth for his pleasure, and I see the darkening look on his face as I submit to him. As his movements become erratic, I push and pull his hips myself, until I feel and hear him lose it and swallow quickly to avoid the taste.
Edwards leans against the tiles, his eyes closed. I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth while he’s not paying attention before picking up my soap and washing quickly. He’s still standing there, seemingly in his own world, and the water is turning cold. I adjust the knobs to let some more heat overpower the cold, then I lean against him, my chest to his. Emerald green sparkles down at me, and the expression I see is one that has been rarely present.
He reaches behind me to turn off the water, and then performs tedious tasks like stepping out and towelling off, drying his hair and leaving the bathroom. I mirror him, drying off and leaving the room to find him in the closet pulling on a pair of grey sleep pants. I have enough items here that I don’t have to struggle to find clothing, but I decide to pad naked into the dining room and pick up his dress shirt and slip it on. I have to roll up the sleeves, but it easily covers my ass.
“God, Bella. Do you know what it does to me to see you in my shirt?” I hear his voice, hoarse and urgent, a few feet behind me.
“Hopefully, it gives you a feeling of possession,” I answer.
“That’s one word for it.”
I lead him to the kitchen, where I leave him so I can gather the remnants of our barely touched dinner. I hand him his salad bowl as I set about eating my cold chicken. I get more wine, and I sip it as I stare at him.
Finally, I clear my throat and boost myself up on the counter to sit. We’re at eye level, so I look directly at him as I speak. “I want to open a dance studio with Rosalie.”
Edward pauses mid-bite. “You do?” he asks, looking completely surprised.
“I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks now that I’ve been thinking about it, there just hasn’t been enough time. I met with Rose at the beginning of the week, and she’s on board.”
“That’s a fantastic idea. What do you plan on teaching?” He resumes eating, and I feel a weight lift from my chest at the idea of us moving forward.
“Well, an exoctic dancer has to teach pole dancing. And aerobic dance. It’s quite the workout, what we do. I can completely picture it, I just need a place.”
“I can do that,” he says over the top of his glass.
I frown. “I only need the name of a realtor that won’t gouge me on commission, and to bounce ideas off you.”
“You don't need money?” he asks, more than a small amount of incredulity in his voice.
I laugh quietly. “No, remember me telling you I made more money than most women my age? I wasn't exaggerating. I have the money to invest in buying a place and renovating it, so don’t worry about that part.”
His head bobs, which I take as a sign of agreement, until he speaks. “You don’t need me to rescue you, just like you said. So what do you need me for?”